Category Archives: General

The Fall Party Returns, With A New Baby

This year marked the return of my friend JoAnn’s Fall Party tradition. From the vines of bittersweet to the candy corn and Dickens Cider, it was a throwback to the parties of yesteryear on the Cape. The location was Quincy (not the easiest of destinations with a broken-down Red Line, but nothing a $40 cab ride couldn’t fix) and the day dawned perfectly – sunny and bright, though the evening quickly turned brisk and cool. Ideal Fall Party weather for a fire.
The main event was the debut of Baby Brandon – the new addition to Wally and Carolyn’s family. He showed up with a full head of dark hair, eyes mesmerized by the firelight, and a smile for his Aunt JoAnn. Another beautifully-behaved baby (of course I high-tailed it away whenever the threat of a crying fit surfaced, which wasn’t that often) Brandon joins the ever-growing group of babies that has infiltrated my life in ways I never previously thought possible.
As JoAnn said, it was a new time. Things had indeed changed, as they always would, but true friendships remained the same. There was solace to be found in that. Hope, too.
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Sympathy for Vanity

It was a chipmunk after my own heart. Climbing up onto a branch at eye-level, it stopped to look at Andy and me as we paused in our walk. I pulled the camera out and zoomed in on the little creature. In the dappled sunlight of the day, it seemed to be posing for us, turning this way and that, giving a fierce double-profile shot. Basking in the warmth of the unseasonable weather, it showed off the striking stripe that marks most chipmunks, accenting its features in the spotlight of sun and stepping into the most flattering illumination.
Vain, silly thing – I know exactly how you feel – and even without an audience we’d be doing the same thing.
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The Maine Wind Down

On Columbus Day, the crowd departs, and I’m reminded of the low-key scenes of our first few visits here a dozen years ago. One some of those nights it was tough to find a cup of coffee after a certain time – a far cry from today, when most businesses stay open until November at least – if not beyond. Personally, I like it when it gets quieter like this – when the noise and excitement subsides. It’s at odds with what a lot of people think of me, but when you get down to the nitty-gritty, the undressed core, I abhor pomp and circumstance. This is not something that translates well to a website, or print for that matter – and it is one of the conundrums of all that I’ve done – and all that I continue to do. Yet it is a delicious juxtaposition – such contrast and contradiction are what keep life from becoming too unbearably boring. The quest for survival is sometimes as simple as a fight against stagnation. Tonight – and this extra-long weekend in Ogunquit – we have won the battle. The war, however, rages on.

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My Hairy Woodpecker

Were you really expecting something else? You need to look into that.

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Bidding the Ocean Adieu

The deep roar of the ocean.

The break of waves on farther shores that thought can find.

The silent thunders of the deep.

And from among it, voices calling, and yet not voices, humming trillings, wordlings, and half-articulated songs of thought.

Greetings, waves of greetings, sliding back down into the inarticulate, words breaking together.

A crash of sorrow on the shores of Earth.

Waves of joy on–where? A world indescribably found, indescribably arrived at, indescribably wet, a song of water.

A fugue of voices now, clamoring explanations, of a disaster unavertable, a world to be destroyed, a surge of helplessness, a spasm of despair, a dying fall, again the break of words.

And then the fling of hope, the finding of a shadow Earth in the implications of enfolded time, submerged dimensions, the pull of parallels, the deep pull, the spin of will, the hurl and split of it, the fight. A new Earth pulled into replacement, the dolphins gone.

Then stunningly a single voice, quite clear.

“This bowl was brought to you by the Campaign to Save the Humans. We bid you farewell.”

And then the sound of long, heavy, perfectly gray bodies rolling away into an unknown fathomless deep, quietly giggling.

~ Douglas Adams, ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’

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From the Mouth of a Madame

“Doesn’t it seem to you,” asked Madame Bovary, “that the mind moves more freely in the presence of that boundless expanse, that the sight of it elevates the soul and gives rise to thoughts of the infinite and the ideal?”

~ Gustave Flaubert, ‘Madame Bovary’

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The Seagull

I cannot escape myself, though I feel that I am consuming my life. To prepare the honey I feed to unknown crowds, I am doomed to brush the bloom from my dearest flowers, to tear them from their stems, and trample the roots that bore them under foot. Am I not a madman? Should I not be treated by those who know me as one mentally diseased? Yet it is always the same, same old story, till I begin to think that all this praise and admiration must be a deception, that I am being hoodwinked because they know I am crazy, and I sometimes tremble lest I should be grabbed from behind and whisked off to a lunatic asylum. The best years of my youth were made one continual agony for me by my writing. A young author, especially if at first he does not make a success, feels clumsy, ill-at-ease, and superfluous in the world. His nerves are all on edge and stretched to the point of breaking; he is irresistibly attracted to literary and artistic people, and hovers about them unknown and unnoticed, fearing to look them bravely in the eye, like a man with a passion for gambling, whose money is all gone. I did not know my readers, but for some reason I imagined they were distrustful and unfriendly; I was mortally afraid of the public, and when my first play appeared, it seemed to me as if all the dark eyes in the audience were looking at it with enmity, and all the blue ones with cold indifference. Oh, how terrible it was! What agony!

~ Anton Chekhov, The Seagull

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Fruit of Fall

The fruits of Fall are sometimes more colorful than the flowers that came before them. These are the enchantments of the season that bring their own joyful surprise, made all the more impressive by their unexpectedness.

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Return to the Beautiful Place By the Sea

This morning Andy and I return to Ogunquit, Maine, for our annual Columbus Day weekend vacation – the final echo of summer hopefully still lingering in the air, or the definitive arrival of Fall and all its accompanying coolness. Either way, it’s Ogunquit, and there’s no better place to be, rain or shine.

While we’re away, I’ve programmed a traditional menu of male celebrity nudity, Madonna, and the measured mayhem of my mad existence that keeps all four of you coming back for more. (And I thank you each for that.) There’s also the special treat of a naked-on-Ogunquit-Beach photo of myself that I’ve been holding onto for all these years – so don’t blink or you’ll miss it. In the meantime, I’ll be enjoying life by the shore, with intermittent updates on FaceBook or Twitter – or even LinkedIn if you want to find me a better-paying job (which is getting easier and easier as I haven’t had a proper raise in four years). I might even update this very site should I decide to bring my laptop. A little on-location posting is always exciting. (Actually, it’s usually pretty boring, but so is much of what goes on here, so let’s do it.)

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A Pause For A Moment

There’s one story that I remember whenever I wash my hands – which means it crosses my mind a number of times in a day. Well, maybe not every time, but quite a lot – especially when there is or isn’t hot water available (sometimes an issue in my work building). In seventh grade we had an art teacher, Mr. Griffith, who peppered his teachings with a couple of personal stories. I loved art class – it came toward the end of the day, and was in a large, expansive second floor room lit brightly by a bank of long windows. We had space to spread out, at big white drawing tables, and it was a relief to focus on being creative rather than studious. I also got to sit next to my new friend Ann, who would prove to be a lifesaver in years to come. On the day that I’m remembering, we were nearing the end of class. Students were packing up, and Mr. Griffith was washing his hands. I don’t think anyone else was paying much attention to his murmuring, but he started talking about a girl who liked to wash her hands. He said she would stand at the sink and just let the water run over them, taking her time and being completely thorough and fastidious about the whole process. One day he asked her why she spent so much time and care washing like that. She answered that she didn’t have hot water at home, and liked the way it felt. He paused in his story, then said it was something that always stuck with him. Since that day, it has stuck with me too. It’s something I cannot forget, and I’m better for it.

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Nicki vs. Mariah: Round One

If it’s wrong to get such a thrill out of watching these two pop titans go at it like this, I don’t ever want to be right. Thank you, TMZ, for making my life worth living.

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My Latest Spread

My friend Jim Koury was kind enough to feature me in this month’s issue of Diversity Rules Magazine – Oct. 2012 – so be sure to check out the online version of the current issue here.

“Alan Bennett Ilagan is a gay blogger based in upstate New York and Boston, and the man behind www.ALANILAGAN.com. What started out as a simple repository of his written work has grown into a popular blog that gets updated daily (even on weekends) with photographs and blog posts and the latest in gay pop culture. From David Beckham and Ben Cohen in their underwear to an ongoing Madonna Timeline, it also includes personal essays by Ilagan, and an extensive collection of galleries for those who simply want to look. After undergoing a dramatic revamping, the site is now more user-friendly than ever, with archives and search options and a brand new lay-out. It will celebrate its tenth anniversary early next year – an eternity in the fast and fickle world of personal blogs. Over the years, readers have had the opportunity to witness the evolution of an artist, both personally and professionally, as Ilagan has shared things as intimate as his marriage to his husband Andy as well as his public work as the Manager of the Romaine Brooks Gallery at the Capital Pride Center. As engaging and entertaining as its creator, www.ALANILAGAN.com continues to provide am unabashedly gay take on life, love, beauty, and art.”

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One Day More!

This is for my friend and co-worker Sherri (long-suffering wife of Webmaster Skip), who tomorrow shall return to join us in the trenches of employment after being out on a well-deserved maternity leave for the past few months of hell. No one is happier for her return than me, and not just because I get to give all her wretched program work back to her – but because the office was a lot less fun without her. Welcome back Sherri!

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Squeezing the Sperm

“Squeeze! Squeeze! Squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me, and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-labourers’ hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally, as much as to say,—Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill humour or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.”

~ Herman Melville, ‘Moby Dick’

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